Page 67 of Shattered Hate

It’s his dick.

His beautiful cock, glistening at the tip. Then the camera shifts, landing on a neat row of books that now frame his throbbing dick. My stomach churns as I scan the vast library, knowing he’s somewhere in its endless rows. “What are you doing?” I hiss into my headset, my eyes darting around.

“I came about the interview, but then I saw you—sitting at that table, deep in thought, biting your lip ring. My cock remembered what that mouth can do. I couldn’t wait to get back to my dorm.” A sigh escapes him, quickly followed by another guttural moan as his hand squeezes his head.

“You need to leave the library, Trayton. If you get caught…” I mutter, shaking my head while my own dick hardens in my pants as his hand speeds up. I can’t tear my eyes away, and when the camera shifts slightly and his face fills the frame, I almost combust. The intensity in his gaze, his hand still pumping, makes him seem almost lost in lust—drugged, with his lips promising endless pleasure and strands of brown hair falling seductively around his face.

“Fuck,” I breathe. He looks unbelievably hot. I curl my toes in my sneakers, fighting the urge to move.

“Dax.” Trayton breathes, his eyes locking with mine through the camera; that faint string I was holding snaps under thetension. Everything in me shatters as I leap from the table, my books and pens forgotten, eyes scanning each row of the library. Trayton’s moans, mixed with my name, keep echoing in my ears, his breath growing increasingly harsh.

“Where are you?” I grit out in panic as Trayton shifts the camera, his moans growing louder. Usually, the fear of being caught would overwhelm me, but I only want him—to see him break down for me, whispering my name over and over. I squint at the screen and glimpse books I’ve never seen before. I may not be a total book nerd, but I know this library well. That row is unfamiliar, so my legs kick into gear, and I sprint toward the far end of the library.

“I’m coming, Dax.” Tray’s husky voice fills my ears just as I stop at the end of the row. There, Trayton leans against a case of books. His head tilts up; his eyes lock with mine, and then he moans, calling my name in harsh gasps. His body convulses as sprays of cum hit the floor. I yank the headphones from my ears as I pocket them and my phone. I race toward him. The moment I reach him, his body shudders again, and I grab his face in my palms, crashing my lips onto his. Our tongues clash in a frenzied, aggressive dance. I slide my hand around the back of his head while his creeps up, wrapping around my neck. We wrestle for control of the kiss, but Trayton wins when his fingers tighten, and he tips my head back, his rough mouth forcing its claim. Our teeth meet as our kiss grows even more frantic until Trayton pulls away slightly, still one hand gripping my throat. His other one slides under the waistband of my jeans, caressing me as I moan, and I watch his fingers trace the length of me beneath the fabric.

“I want to taste you.” His words are quiet. Before I can even blink, he spins me around so my back hits the case of books behind me, then drops to his knees, unbuttoning my jeans.

“Tray, no,” I hiss, trying to push his hand away, but he overpowers me, smoothly pulling out my throbbing cock. All I can do is stare as I weakly plead, “Tray, don’t.” My eyes dart to the end of the row. When I look back, he smirks up at me.

“Let me show you how sorry I am, Dax.” Without further warning, his mouth wraps around my cock, and my head spins with pleasure. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. He works me deep, taking me until he gags around the head, and I can think of nothing but the overwhelming sensation.

My arms grip the bookcase behind me as I pant. “Oh my god, fuck.” I jolt at the shock of his tongue teasing around my piercing. Then he sucks on the head and swiftly makes fast work of swallowing my dick down again.

I lower my head as I watch him take my throbbing cock deep into his mouth, his eyes initially closed before snapping open and locking onto mine. In that fierce gaze, heat, desire, and raw desperation blaze back at me as he never once breaks our contact.

“You look so fucking good, Tray,” I murmur, my hands raking through his hair as I savor every moment. Droplets of saliva escape his mouth, streaming down his cheek, but he doesn’t falter—he turns into a deliciously messy display on the ground. My dick swallowed eagerly by his hungry throat.

Trayton King is on his knees, sucking my dick.

The sensation of his warm, wet mouth, his tongue relentlessly caressing my piercing and the tip of my cock, sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body. My entire being trembles, my balls weighted with desire as a tingling heat ignites every nerve, as though he’s draining my very soul. Sensing my shudder, he pulls back briefly, then takes charge with his hand, stroking me hard and fast. “Let me taste you, baby. Let me swallow every drop you give me,” he growls.

“Fuck, Tray.” I moan as his lips return to claim me, showing no restraint. He sucks, licks, and gags with an uncontrolled passion, his saliva mingling with my pre-cum as he works over me with the precision and intensity of a champion scoring in his game.

“I’m coming, Tray.” I’m hoarse as I grip his hair, my fingers tightening as I come, repeatedly grunting his name in pure ecstasy. His moans, the deep vibrations of his throat resonating against me, send me spiraling into a wave of euphoria. My body electrifies—my feet tingle, butterflies swarm every inch of me, and my stomach churns as if on an endless rollercoaster—until the rush slowly subsides, leaving me slumped against the bookcase.

Trayton stands before me, his thumb gathering the mix of spit and cum that glistens on his lip. Moving in closer, he presses his thumb to my open mouth. I exhale a deep sigh as my tongue wraps around it in a deliciously submissive embrace. With a sly flick, he hooks his thumb behind my teeth, drawing me in until his lips graze my ear.

“I’ll see you in the locker room in twenty minutes for that interview,” he whispers, kissing the side of my neck before stepping back, giving me one last tantalizing glance. With a smirk playing on his lips, he walks away, leaving me barely standing and reeling with the truth—I had Trayton King on his knees, yet I was never truly in control.

I set up the camera—apparently, I can’t say no to Trayton. I’m irritated with myself for even being here—he didn’t even ask.

“I’ll see you in the locker room in twenty minutes for that interview.”

Prick.

But after he practically drained every ounce of energy from me, I did exactly as he requested; I scrubbed my foot across the floor, trying to get rid of his cum stains, and gathered what little I had left from the table. And now I’m here, waiting for him to finish showering so I can get this interview over with.

Ten minutes later, Trayton appears and sits in front of the camera, wearing the most maddening smirk. His eyes sweep over me, lingering on my lips, and it almost feels like he’s devouring me with his gaze. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, recalling how irresistible he looked with my cock in his mouth—and I quickly remind myself that this isn’t the time for such thoughts.

His grin widens even further. My cheeks burn, and I can tell he notices because he chuckles. Damn him for making me feel this way. Damn him for draining me, for keeping me here like a helpless mess, and damn him for turning me on while his eyes remain fixed on my lips.

“Trayton.” I clear my throat, unwilling to let him watch me like that during the interview.

“What did you want to ask me, Dax?” His hoarse question echoes in the quiet locker room, yet his eyes never leave my lips. There’s so much I want to ask him—why he makes me feel this way, what he gains from this, what exactly he wants from it, whatever this messed-up situation is.

Our eyes lock, his eyebrow rising in a silent challenge.

“For the interview, Daxton. What did you want to ask me?”

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